Lost in the Darkness
by SerenityandLight
Summary: A young woman escapes the torments of her marriage and seeks refuge in the heart of Paris. Along the path of rebuilding her life she makes an unlikely friend. Leroux based with touches of Kay. E/OC
1. Chapter 1: The Wedding

**A/N: Disclaimer as much as I wish I did I do not own Erik or any other POTO characters. **

**I am in the process of reformatting the story, just a tense switch from present to past. I hope that it will improve the flow, I was afraid that some of the new chapters sounded foolish in present, first person. I am going for each chapter as more of a journal entry/ day end reflective interior monologue. **

Marriage. A bond between two loving people. A commitment to another to love and cherish them as long as they both shall live. At least that is my definition marriage, the one that I have foolishly clung to since childhood while I awaited my prince charming. Somehow now it seems that this definition is just that, naive and childish. For there I was the morning before my wedding day, no Prince Charming, no love. I was another victim to the marriage of convenience, used to increase ones family's social status. Sadly this seems to be the custom and that Prince Charming and loving husbands are reserved to fairy tales and fantasy.

The impossibly white material twisted and wrinkled as I wrung my hands in my skirts. The purity of the fabric lost to the growing wrinkles and creases. Why must I get married? I didn't want a husband; I did not want to marry Count James Highbury. He is nearly 20 years my senior and wished to immediately start a family. I guess that is more my issue, I don't want children. Not now. I feel as though I am just beginning to live my life, for God's sake I have only just turned 20. I know that is impossibly old by today's standard. Many of my sisters were married with a child by their 20th birthday. Yet I still do not understand. There are too many things left to do, see and read! How can I be expected to raise a child when I still consider myself a child? Oh, well. What use is it to think and worry about these things now? I am to walk down the aisle in under 2 hours. I don't have choice. I never had a choice.

"Sara, dear, are you ready?" I looked up. It was my mother. Dressed in a periwinkle gown. It was not a surprising choice, the dress exaggerated her eyes. Those stunning blue eyes that could stop any man in his tracks. I used to have those eyes when I was a child, but with time they changed dulling to a gray.

"Sara," She tried again "Sara are you listening."

"Yes, mother." I replied.

"We need to finish your hair and make-up. We want you looking your best on your special day." With that she began to brush my hair. Pulling the dark blond locks away from my neck.

"Are you happy mother?" I sighed, looking into the mirror for the first time since my mother entered the room.

"I am sorry dear I don't understand. Am I happy with what?"

"With marrying father. Do you ever regret it?" I shifted my gaze so that I am directly looking into her reflections eyes.

She looked slightly taken aback. "Of course I am. We have had are hard times, but I never regret it. You are nervous dear, what you are feeling now is normal it will fade with time. Don't look at me like that; it's a mother's intuition."

I sat there, far from pacified with this response. It should make me feel better, mother and father's marriage was also one of convenience, father was much older than mother, their marriage was much like my own. Still I couldn't help but feel that this was a terrible mistake. God I hope mother's intuition is right, these doubts will pass and I will have at the very least a working relationship with my husband. It will be ok; at least that's what I need to tell myself.

"Now," my mother continued, "Today is not for me, it is for you and it will be the happiest day of your life!"

"That's what I was afraid of." I said dropping my gaze to my hands, my voice audible to me alone.

**A/N: Please review! This is one of my first pieces, let me know what you think but please be nice!**


	2. Chapter 2: The Honeymoon

The wedding was uneventful. It went just as it should. We said our vows, exchanged rings, toasted our union, thanked our guests then headed off to our honeymoon. Now I realize that it is this event that most young brides hold their trepidation but honestly I was so concerned with the implications of marriage on my freedom that what was expected of me tonight all but escaped my mind. However that was until we entered the bedroom. As we crossed the threshold it came screaming back full force. That may explain the fogginess that I felt. The lump in my throat. The tightness in by chest.

"Sara? Are you alright?" James' voice broke through the fog.

I turned to look at him. His tall lean frame inches from my own slightly curvy form. His brown hair combed to perfection, his green eyes. Those eyes that were filled with a mixture of concern and what I can only assume to be lust. The emotion in those eyes scared me and angered me. Fear for what was about to happen. Anger over the silly child I was being for feeling such fear. I was wallowing in self pity acting as though I was being led to the gallows. I was a stronger woman than that. I had to be a stronger woman than that.

"I am fine." I said, though I certainly didn't feel it.

"Good." He said, closing the gap between the two of us.

He drew so close his cologne burned my nose. He leaned forward and kissed me. His tongue forced its way into my mouth. I don't know how anyone can find that enjoyable. It felt like he was counting my teeth with his tongue, domineering forcing his way through my mouth. I pulled back. Now I know that look was lust. He leaned in again, this time assaulting my neck. As he continued kissing my neck his hands groped my body. I knew what was expected of me, I knew that I should be returning the affection, if one could call it that, but I couldn't. I remained standing, my arms dangling uselessly at my sides. This did not deter him, he continued his exploration of my body, running his hands over my chest and down my sides. I closed my eyes and waited for it to be over, this is not how I planned my wedding night.

I woke up. The throbbing reminded me of what occurred hours earlier. It wasn't as horrific as I imagined the first time would be. It was painful without a doubt, but it wasn't as bad as other young wives described. I can't imagine how a woman can enjoy this, if it is always as painful as night previous, I certainly would not be volunteering to do it again.

James shifted next to me. He certainly seemed to enjoy himself last night, panting and moaning. Then collapsing on the bed and falling asleep. Not a word to me. Just used and discarded. There I go again. I think that I may be reading too much into these things. If I am always so certain that this life will be horrible it will be. The human mind can twist and distort things. Last night was unpleasant, yes, but was it uncommon? I don't know I have no frame of reference. Maybe by comparison last night was amazing, maybe it was a horror. I don't know. None the less, I have to give this a chance, because I still have no control over changing it.

I got out of the bed, wrapping the sheet around myself and crossing to the window. What is to become of my life now? What is expected of me? Hopefully things will become clearer with time. I sighed and leaned against the window, staring at the stars. I guess that I will have to wait and see.

Erik slammed a book on top of the piano sending music sheets flying everywhere. This was common. He was once again at a loss of what to write, he wanted to compose. He needed to compose. But no matter how many notes he played it didn't seem right. He tried reading, sleeping, walking, painting, anything to take his mind away from the music. Nothing worked. He felt the urge to compose flow through his veins like a fire. His fingers burned to stroke the ivory keys and for the pipes to emit an original sound. A melody that never before had graced human ears. Yet every time his long slender fingers caressed the keys all he heard was boring, uninspired drivel. He hated when this happened and it was happening all too much lately. It angered him to no end and the longer the drought lasted the angrier he got.

"I have written entire operas in days!" He boomed, his voice echoing around the house by the lake, "Yet it has been two months and not a single note worth writing!"

He turned abruptly causing another stack of papers to cascade to the floor. Erik grabbed his cloak and stormed out the door. Perhaps some fresh air would clear his head.

**A/N: Please review! I am aiming to update at least once a week (Mondays?). Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3: The Escape

**A/N: Sorry that this is late, it really hit the fan at work yesterday. Same deal if you like it please review I am open to suggestions on where the story should head too... **

Cold rain soaked my clothing. Cold, wet material clung to my freezing frame. My legs ached, and my mind is raced. The few possessions left to my name were in a bag by my side. I shouldn't have complained. Sure it's stopped, but how wass this better? I always believed that I would rather be homeless and alone then the toy to a man's depraved desires. Though my mind and heart tell me that that is still the honourable and self respecting sentiment, the fatigue in my legs, lack of food in my stomach and the loss of feeling in my finger tips begged otherwise.

It's been 3 days since the confrontation, though the memory will forever be imprinted in my mind. It occurred only one short month after my wedding but the tensions were building from day one. It began with the bedroom. James made it clear night one that I was his wife and it was my duty to honour and respect him a task which included serving his every need and sexual desire. He said that it was his right as a husband. It was a right that he enforced on many occasions with or without my consent. It gradually got rougher and more painful until the point where I would wake the following morning with bruises on my arms and legs.

I did resist. Honestly, not as much as I could have. Any protest on my part was usually verbal. Never physical. I am sure that I could have put up more of a fight; in fact I know I could have. Against my mother's wishes I use to wrestle with my cousins and my older brother when I was younger. So I knew if I chose to I could do James some harm. Yet I felt that the repercussions of that action would be far worse than what I was currently enduring. Turns out that I was right.

It was about a month into our marriage when I received my, shall we call it, monthly gift. When James discovered that after a month of relentless attempts I was in fact not pregnant he flew into a blind rage and blamed me for denying him children. He screamed names, calling me a bad wife and told me I was as useless as a common whore. I snapped. I yelled back. I slapped him. If I was a whore it is because he literal forced me to become one. I refused to let any man talk to me like that. It wasn't my fault I wasn't pregnant. Perhaps it had something to do with the manner in which HE attempted to get me pregnant. I doubt God wants a rough and spiteful man who abuses and demeans his wife, a man who believes that a woman is nothing more than a bought and paid for sex toy, to have children! The words were not even out of my mouth when I hit the floor. I felt a pain radiating from my jaw and saw blood on the carpet. He had punched me. Oh how I wish that it had all stopped there. For the next hour he beat me. He yelled things at me, detailing how that I was the spiteful one. I was the one who refused to get pregnant. He even went as far as to accuse me of purposefully killing any child that did begin to grow in my womb. I would never admit it but at that moment I believed that death would have been a cheerier fate for a child then to spend even a moment in Count James Highbury's presence.

The following morning I was in so much pain that I could barely move it took 3 days before I was able to walk. But as soon as that moment arrived I packed a bag and was out the door. I never looked back. One more day in that horrid man's presence would surely kill me. I had been there for little over a month and I already felt I had aged years. I was no longer a child. My innocence had been stolen. I was a woman. A broken woman. There was only one place to go. I ran without stopping for hours until I reached my family home. My mother greeted me at the door with shock and horror. I collapsed forward and I told her everything, I begged for help. But my pleas fell upon deaf ears. She said that I was a bad wife, and that a wife should never leave her husband's side without permission. I felt confused and betrayed. How could my mother consider me the one at fault? What had I done that was so wrong? She told me to return. To return to him. To return to my tormentor. I couldn't. I wouldn't. Without a thought I ran, no direction, just running. When my legs finally gave out it was nearly dawn and I was 20 miles from any known landmark. I fell against a tree and closed my eyes and that was when it began to rain.

The rain flooded the streets of Paris as Erik walked through the darkened streets. Clad entirely in black he appeared more of a shadow then a man. If it were not for his golden eyes he would be invisible. That was his plan. If no one can see him, then no one can bother him. For years he was used for people's pleasure and torment. He was put on display for all their prying eyes. He hated them. All of them. He was better off alone with no one to stare at his face or scream in horror.

Being alone use to bother him, not anymore. The thin chance of finding someone who could bear his visage was not worth the pain and humiliation of watching a man recoil in terror or a woman fainting in fright. Besides he preferred to compose alone, and he was always composing or attempting to compose. So it was best that no one ever came around. They would just distract him.

Erik looked to the horizon as the sun began to rise in the distance. He turned and headed home, no more inspired then when he left. Yet he must be back before the streets fill with morning shoppers, for a shadow is not hidden in broad daylight


	4. Chapter 4: Travel Plans

**A/N: So here is the new chapter. Enjoy!**

I woke up with the warm glow of sun on my face. I groggily turned trying to turn away from the light. That's when I realized that I was not in a bed. I was on the ground under a tree. It only took moments for the memories of the previous day to come flooding back. My heart began to feel heavy, heavy with deceit and betrayal. I felt tears stinging the back of my eyes. Yet I refused to cry. Even though my mother was willing to lead me back to him, knowing what he had done. I had never felt more unloved then in that moment. She didn't care. She didn't care if he demeaned, abused or beat me. That fact hurt me more than I cared to admit. It certainly hurt more than anything anyone, including James, had ever done. What's worse is now I am completely alone with no food, money or a place to go. My bother and old sister moved to America a few years ago. I briefly considered contacting them or heading that way but disregard it as quickly as it floated in. How could I contact them I didn't have an address for them to send a letter to? That and the months that it would take for one letter to be sent either way. I leaned back against the tree, there was tightness in my chest. I was holding my breath. I let it rush out and with it come the tears. I sobbed into my skirts. What was I asuppose to do now? How was this a smart idea? I had become the example of the phrase "between a rock and a hard place". If I returned to James he'd surely kill me, perhaps not intentionally but the betrayal of desertion is worse than a few choice words and a slap, and I am still bearing the reminds of that night. And yet if I didn't return I would surely die of starvation or exposure. I had no friends or relatives anywhere nearby. The closest one was my sister in Paris. Paris. Why hadn't I thought of that before? It is a long way from England to France but that I might be able to manage. It would certainly be easier to get to France than America.

So with that decided I stood up and headed in the direction I thought France would be in. It is foolish I know but at least it was my choice. I had regained my freedom. It was a liberating thought, and the long trek ahead no longer seems as daunting.

I walked all day and by nightfall I come across what appeared to be a small city. It had a series of tents, carriages, and what appears to be moving houses. I had never seen anything like this before. I walked towards it anxious of what to expect. Was I hallucinating? I remember reading stories as a child about people lost in the desert seeing visions of pools, and springs. Is that what this was? A mirage created by my sleep deprived mind?

*Bang*

I gasped and stepped back. Could hallucinations be auditory as well?

I proceed forward into the strange array. I glanced around when a gruff voice came from directly behind me "You can't be in here."

I turned around locating the source of the voice. It was a short, pudgy man with a large bushy moustache, thin greying brown hair and small watery eyes.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know. What is this place?"

"Have you never heard of a circus? Or gypsies for that matter?"

"A circus? Really?" I had never been to a circus. Though I had often read about them in books. I was also not very well acquainted with gypsies or their culture.

"Yes. But we are not open now; we are travelling so I must ask you to leave. We recently lost some staff as such we are very busy."

"Oh! Of course, just if you don't mind me asking where are you going?" My mind was reeling. My heart flew to my throat.

"Down through England, over to France then into Italy."

France! "I know that this is rather unusual, and well, I know that you probably don't, but you mentioned you are a few people down. Is there a chance that there might be a place that I might fill?" I couldn't make eye contact. I could feel my heart beating. Please, please. I braced expecting a rejection.

"Hmm... are you any good with a needle and thread? We recently lost a seamstress. "

"I am excellent with sewing!" This couldn't be happening, what a lucky break, the words were tumbling out in, I am sure, a very undignified manner. "Thank you. You have no idea how much this means to me."

"Well show your thanks with your work. The pay is not the greatest but it's decent. I am Malcolm by the way." He said offering his hand.

"Sara." I offered mine. "So what do I do for food and lodging?"

"Well, I will show you to your new lodging. Meals for non-performers are in the main tent at 6, 12, and 7. Unless there is a show then they are out in the back area. After hours you can try the kitchen but the cooks can be less then pleasant. Come follow me."

I was elated. I had a job, housing and food. My life has been turned upside down in a day. I followed Malcolm to my new room. It is in one of the trailers. It was small, much smaller than any room I had ever seen. There was just enough room for a small mattress on the floor.

"I am sorry it's so small, but we don't have a lot of space to work with..." Malcolm began but I cut him off.

"It's perfect!" It may not be large but it was mine. Mine and mine alone. I was not forced to share it with an abusive spouse, a betraying mother, no one.

"I am glad you think so. Dinner is in an hour, if you are hungry. Main tent. I will introduce you to the others then."

I nodded my assent. I was starving. I fell onto the pillows as Malcolm exited. This was going to be an exciting change in my life. I had literally ran away and joined the circus. Things were starting to look up.


	5. Chapter 5: Gypsy Myths

**A/N: Sorry for such a delay, I have no excuses. Life got hectic and time sort of slipped away. I will try to update more regularly! Promise more than once per year! Also I am going to fast forward over a lot to get to Paris and a few, shall we say, better know characters. Let me know if you want me to slow down and elaborate. Also for older readers, I edited the first 4 chapters a bit. I merely altered the tense so the content is exactly the same.**

The months that followed my arrival at the circus were some of the happiest of my life. I quickly became a proficient seamstress, able to repair nearly any rip, tear or split seam. The fellow performers and staff were kind to me and we often stayed up late in one trailer or another drinking ale or spirits telling stories.

The most popular story was of a young boy (or man depending on the teller), who possessed the body of a demon but a voice of an angel. It seemed everyone knew this tale; it was passed down through generations of staff. Yet, no-one knew anyone who had witnessed any of the events described, but that did not hinder the vividness the story elicited. Every teller seemed to know something the former did not. Each adding to the myth and making this creature seem more foreboding.

According to lore this creature just showed up one day. So evil that try as it may to assume a human visage it could only manage as close as a corpse, deathly pale and thin as a skeleton. It was said that it had eyes of burning hell fire, betraying it unholy origin. It possessed the ability to bewitch items and make them sing with a chorus of angels. It was commonly believed that it used this beautiful song as a siren does, leading unwary men to an untimely death. They say this demon tormented the performers and patrons alike for years before mysteriously vanishing.

I had sat enraptured the first time this story was told. It was so fanciful and it bore no similarity to any story I had heard before. When the story concluded I applauded the teller and asked him how he to dream up such a tale. That's when his face fell grave and said "I tell no tale of imagination, every word spoken was true."

How could I not believe those solemn words? Yet, ideas of a corpse with an angelic voice seem preposterous. I struggled with the thought all night, tossing between believing it was truth or fiction. By morning I was convinced that it was nothing more than a ghost story intended to frighten the weak hearted. Though try as I might to doubt its validity, the chilling details were so accurate that a part of me knew that it must in part be true.

That story was retold so often that I could repeat it verbatim in its entirety within a week. In fact I had convinced, albeit unintentionally, a few new hires that I had witnessed these events myself! What a foolish idea!

I had such a glorious time with my new friends that the months flew by as we travelled through England into France. That's is why I was so started when Malcolm came in to announce we would be outside Paris tomorrow morning and that if I still wished to leave now was my chance.

I was honestly and truly torn. On one side I was with friends travelling the country side, meeting fascinating new people. On the other side was the draw of family. In the end the familiar tugs on my heartstrings won out and with quick goodbyes I began my trek into Paris.

My shoes kicked up swirls of dust dirtying the hems of my skirts as I walked into the city. In the distance I could see an older looking house with peeling off white paint and a large cobblestone path leading the front door. It was exactly as my sister had described it and I could not stop the flood of anticipation that filled my chest as the house grew nearer. All at once I could not restrain my self a moment longer and broke into a run, quickly closing the distance between me and the front door. I eagerly rapped upon it as soon as I was close enough.

It took only moments, but I heard the sound of someone shuffling inside. It slowly pulled open to reveal the astonished face of a woman with long red hair and beautiful green eyes. My sisters face.

"Sara?" She stammers.

"Yes, Julianne it's me! I am so happy to see you!" I gasped trying desperately to catch my breath.

"I got a letter from our sister about a month back. She said that you disappeared. She didn't elaborate much… Come in you need to tell me everything." Julianne said grabbing my bag and pulling it into the house.

**A/N: So we made it to Paris! Will her sister be more understanding? And that myth has a vague similarity to something I have heard before…**


	6. Chapter 6: A New Start

**A/N: Here's one more! I feel I owe you a quick update after such a long hiatus. Thank you to all readers, and a special thanks to all those that reviewed! Reviews really do help give me motivation to struggle through a writer's block. So here's a new chapter dedicated to the reviewers, as always R/R and enjoy!**

Julianne and I talked all night. We were still talking when the sun began to crest over the hills on the horizon. It felt so good to discuss everything that had happened to me with someone who simply lent a sympathetic ear. When I told her of what mother did she sadly smiled and expressed that it didn't surprise her. She and Trevor, a tall man with a strong build, hazel eyes and matching hair, had run away together to escape mother's disapproval or more accurately her down right forbiddance of the marriage. Trevor was far from aristocracy, a carpenter by trade and my mother saw it as a disgrace for one of her daughters to associate with him let alone _marry _him.

Julianne had expressed that when she left with Trevor she lost all contact with our family, with the exception of the occasional letter from me and a few of my siblings. She had tried many times to contact our parents but mother refused to answer them. I didn't have the heart to tell her that when mother ever received a letter from her she would throw it in the fire without even reading it.

Julianne glanced toward the window noticing the light beginning to flood into the sitting room.

"Oh dear," she said, "we seem to have let the night slip away, come get some sleep."

The fabric was soft against my skin as I pulled a clean dress on. My sister was so kind since the moment I arrived at her house. She refused to let me help, saying I've suffered an ordeal and need to rest and recoup. It was nonsense but I enjoyed it regardless.

"Morning," I said entering the kitchen.

"Good morning!" Julianne replied, handing me a plate of eggs and nodding towards a table filled with many delectable breakfast items.

"Julianne this is amazing, you really shouldn't have." I said taking a scoop of eggs and eyeing the fresh croissants.

"Oh it was nothing." She said sitting down.

"You really need to let me help. I don't know what to do with myself these days. I am not use to having this much free time." I laughed.

"Actually I was talking with Trevor this morning and he told me that he over heard that the managers at the Opera house in town are looking to hire a few new staff members. As well as having auditions for the new production, though if I recall you don't have much of chance of being a chorus member," She smiled

I laughed quietly and nodded. I was a terrible singer I couldn't carry a tune if my life depended on it.

"They are hiring seamstresses though;" She continued "Which you said you had some talent with, and all positions come with room, board and a small salary."

I sat quietly chewing my breakfast as I mulled over the idea. The Palais Garnier is world renowned; would they hire a nobody like me? Surely they only hired the best, even for costumes. Sewing elaborate costumes was an art and I knew the stitches and the theory but I doubted that that was enough. It was worth a shot though, wasn't it?

Perhaps misreading my silence Julianne continued, "Not that we want you to leave! I enjoy having you around, it's just you expressed wanting to have something to do and you talked so magnificently about freedom that I assumed you'd want to find your own way. But you're welcome to stay here as long as you want."

"No you're right," I said placing my napkin on the table. "I should find my own place or at the very least a job. Perhaps we can head down there this afternoon?"

"Of course." Julianne said as she began to clear the table.

It was stunning. The first time I ever entered the marbled halls of the Palais Garnier my breath was taken away. The marble pillars, the polished floor, the magnificent staircase. It was glorious.

"Can I help you?" A stern voice called crashing me back to reality.

"Actually, yes. My name is Sara Newman," I refused to use my married name, "I am here in search of a job"

"Well, Mlle Newman it would appear as though you are in luck. Auditions for the new production are tomorrow in the theatre, sign up sheets are in the room over there." He pointed to his right. "For all other positions, including maids and seamstresses see Mme Dubois through there." He pointed down a long hallway on his left.

"Thank you monsieur." I replied and headed down the hallway.

After much searching I finally located Mme Dubois and after a few demonstrations of my skill I managed to secure a position. It came with room, board and a very meager salary. I practically skipped as I headed back outside to inform Julianne and Trevor.

"I had no doubt!" Julianne cried as she squeezed me in her arms, "when do you start?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"Well then we will help you unpack, and treat you to dinner," Trevor smiled, "then you can come to your new home and rest up for tomorrow!"

The morning light streamed across my face, waking me. I cannot express my dislike of mornings. I felt tired and grumpy but rose all the same and prepared to head down to my first day of work in this magnificent building.

I had only just entered the sewing room when a dumpy, grey haired woman that was Mme Dubois entered.

"Alright ladies, this is Sara Newman, she's new." Mme Dubois said as she lazily pointed in my general direction, "we have a new performance coming up and we will need new costumes for everyone. Auditions start in an hour, successful candidates will begin to arrive in about two. So I suggest you prepare!" And with that she turned briskly and exited the room.

Invisible to anyone in the room two golden eyes watched as the new seamstress scrambled about preparing for the impending influx.

**A/N: Six chapters in and we are finally at the Palais Garnier! Hope you enjoyed, as always please review! I see many people reading and I'd like to hear from you! Also I know it's been a long ride but don't fret, lots of Erik in the next Chapter!**


	7. Chapter 7: Auditions

**A/N: Thanks for all the wonderful reviews! There isn't an Erik/Sara interaction in this chapter but as you'll be able to tell from this chapters conclusion it is **_**really**_** soon, next chapter soon. Also we finally have it a chapter all about Erik! As always R/R and above all enjoy!**

So they hired a new sewing rat? A trivial matter, but from the looks of her young age she was likely inexperienced. If his assumptions were correct she would ruin meters of material and debauch countless gowns for months. It would hardly ruin a production but obviously the perfection _he_ demanded from an Opera was not the same as the manager's.

He was tempted to wait and see how terrible she actually was but he had more pressing matters to attend to as auditions were being held a short distance away. Perhaps this year there would be talent among the undisciplined squawking and uncoordination. He had to admit his hopes weren't high.

Erik's shoes made no noise as he followed his hidden passages to box five. His box. He made that clear to those fools Debienne and Poligny. It took some, shall we say, convincing but now they didn't dare not follow his word. This was Erik's Opera House and within these walls his word was God.

So it began, late as usual. Dancers. Lord how he loathed them. Ballet was such a pretentious, clumsy art. He had yet to meet a dancer with true passion. They were all so obsessed with how their tutu fell to observe the finer intricacies of art. In truth every performer he had ever seen grace that stage ignored the unwritten aspect to art. The underlying passion and emotion that when lacking made even the most technically accurate performer look like a bumbling calf or squawking bird. It infuriated Erik to that not a single member of the entire Opera staff looked for any of this in any performer. The managers looked for the girls with the thin waists, short skirts and heaving breasts. The maestro and ballet mistress looked for the flashiest, most technical performer. The results amounted to a disgrace.

Erik sat and watched as each dancer gracelessly fumbled across the stage, while the older girls complained about why they had to audition.

"I don't see why we must audition! Even to just be in le corps!" One dancer complained loudly. "I have been dancing with the company for three years!"

"And you have taken that fact for granted!" Shouted the ballet mistress. "We are having auditions for _every_ part as some people have gotten rather lazy with their performance, under the assumption that they are secure in their position. That is why every single dancer, singer and musician, aside from the Prima Ballerina and Prima Donna, will be auditioning! If you have indeed been practicing and performing properly while a member of le corps you should have no problems!"

Erik couldn't help but smirk. At least someone had a sense of discipline. Though he thought that Prima Ballerina and certainly the Prima Donna should audition. If Erik were to be honest with himself he thought that they should be fired, but perhaps an audition would scare up some real talent.

Erik watched the auditions all morning, his mood growing darker the longer they went on. He had made a mental note to write to the managers. This was disgraceful! 3 hours of auditions and what to show for it? A bunch of uncoordinated giraffes, mediocre woodwinds, a soulless brass and a percussion section that couldn't keep time if he lit their sheet music on fire.

The chorus was no better. The only girl worth mentioning had long golden hair and blue eyes. She had potential but she reminded him of a deer. Wide eyed, simple, and frightened of her own shadow. She was a waste of good talent and space.

Erik was fuming, 3 hours wasted! Not to mention he had to look forward to yet another year of barely adequate operas. He stormed back towards his home. He needed a way to vent his frustrations, perhaps it was time the sewing rat got acquainted with the Opera Ghost!

**A/N: Uh oh, what's he got planned? Looks like the long awaited meeting is about to take place! Hope you enjoyed, please review! Also I know Erik was a little harsh on Christine, don't worry this is not a "bash Christine" fic. Erik was just in a foul mood and this story is taking place before any E/C developed. **


	8. Chapter 8: Bobbins and Silk

**A/N**: **Thanks for all the wonderful reviews! You are too kind ****Here we are one more chapter. Also after much anticipation Sara will have her first contact with the Opera Ghost! As always R/R and enjoy!**

My hands ached. I had been sewing non stop for 3 hours. There seemed to be an endless parade of first ballerinas, then musicians, and now chorus girls. The ballerinas were easy enough. Most just needed a few adjustments to their existing dress, and for the few requiring a new outfit the design was simple and easily completed. The musicians were few and far between. The position only required dark evening wear to look professional and hidden. They were required to purchase it themselves but the seamstresses at the opera were always willing to do some free tailoring and repair. The chorus on the other hand was a nightmare. It seemed that every single person who would be singing in the new production needed a new costume. To add to the frustration the new costumes for the chorus were the most complicated designs I had ever seen. They required darts, invisible stitching, piping, embroidery, buttons; the list never seemed to end. These dresses could not be finished in an afternoon so all we could hope to do was get the measurements and baste stitch a general design and work on it after the girls had left. I was finishing the hem on one girl's sleeve when I reached back to grab a pin, but to my dismay my hand connected with nothing but cool wood. I turned to look at the table only to find my pins completely missing; all that remained on the sewing table were a few spools and bobbins of thread.

"Did you move my pin?" I asked the girl stupidly, her arms were out stretched and I had been pinning a hem at her wrist.

"No." She replied, politely ignoring my stupidity.

"Its ok, I am done anyway. I just need to stitch it. Carefully pull it off while I grab some thread." I said turning back to the table.

I glanced back across the table. It was completely empty. I was sure that moments before I had seen my thread on it. I ran my hand across the table perhaps hoping to feel a trace of the thread. I searched beneath, beside and behind the table before concluding it was no where in my vicinity. Its absence perplexed me it seemed to have vanished into thin air.

"It's gone." I finally admitted, standing up from my search of the floor.

"What is?" The chorus girl asked handing me her dress.

"My thread. I swear it was just here." I reply, looking behind the table again.

"Ooooh. Maybe it was the ghost!" The girl practically squealed, the excitement glowing in her eyes.

"I'm sorry the what?" I asked.

"The Opera Ghost! Haven't you heard?" Her voice was oozing with excitement, as she grabbed my wrist and pulled me closer, whispering to me like we were old friends sharing secrets. "He haunts the whole Opera! My friend Bridgette swears he stole her powder-puff once. She was applying her make up before a show when she noticed her hair was falling down so she went to borrow a bobby pin from here neighbour and when she came back her powder-puff was gone. Completely, absolutely no trace of it."

"What use does a ghost have with a powder-puff?" I asked skeptically.

"No one really knows," she continued, "but he steals lots of stuff. Like ballet shoes, hair pins, ribbons all sorts. But the most interesting thing is…" She literally quivered as she spoke, "he insists that the managers give him his box."

"The ghost has a box?" I asked, my skepticism rising.

"Yes, box five! But there's more!" She could hardly stand still as she pulled my ear closer to her lips, "The managers also pay him a salary! I heard it was 20 000 francs per month!"

I couldn't hold my tongue any longer and despite myself I laughed. "What use does a ghost have with a salary? And really if he gets 20 000 francs per month why would he need my thread?"

"It's not a joke. Its true, every word!" She said sternly before storming off.

I shouldn't have laughed. I knew she thought that she had a juicy piece of gossip and wanted to share it. I could just see her running back to all the little ballerina's and chorus girls and whispering of dark things huddling in the corners. I remembered being like that as a child; I was always blessed with an active imagination. But the idea of an actual ghost running around and stealing powder-puffs was absolutely ridiculous. To add to my skepticism I couldn't imagine the managers handing over 240 000 francs per year to a non existent entity. However the problem of my missing supplies remained. I concluded someone must have borrowed them while I was immersed in my work. I simply had to get a fresh spool from the supply room.

The supply room was a brilliant place. It was a rather large room and was filled with reams of the most beautiful fabrics I had ever seen. Every type of fabric I could imagine seemed to be in this room, from common flannel to the most expensive silk. I guilty let my fingers slide over the silk as I approached the cupboard containing the spare thread and other sewing notions.

_*Bang*_

I turned too see a large ream of fabric rolling across the floor. I hurried forward but before I could replace it another hit the floor with a sickening crash, followed by another and another. It seemed like all the reams were hitting the floor one after another like in a twisted game of dominos. I ran forward hoping to stop, what appeared to be, a chain reaction. I was nearly at the most recently displaced ream when I saw a whip of a clock and two burning eyes.

"Stop!" I yelled. "Please stop. I saw you! This isn't funny!"

"Oh contraire mon petit. I find it quite humorous." An angelic voice cooed.

My chest constricted and unintentionally switching to my native tongue I gasped, "It's you."

"And who precisely would that be my dear?" It replied in perfect English.

"The demon that tormented the gypsies!"

The last thing I remember seeing was a terrible winged creature with burning eyes lunge at me before everything went black.

xxxxxxxxxx

It was so simple to torment these stupid girls. Erik found it beneath him to steal sewing supplies but the poor girl's confusion amused him to no end. Yes that's it your mannequin stole them, with her hands raised and standing three feet away from the table. Chorus girls must have learned the art of psycokinesis. The thread was all too easy to steal, and he was not disappointed with her confused scramblings to find the lost spools.

Erik listened as the chorus girl spilled her gossip. She hit a few right but that powder-puff was not his doing. It seemed that any time anything went missing it was the Opera Ghost, regardless of the trivial nature of the misplaced item.

The little sewing rat didn't realize how wrong she was, it was the Opera Ghost and he had _many_ uses for a salary. Though she did have a point, Erik didn't need thread and he flicked his ill gotten gains into the air. Perhaps she needed a more _dramatic_ introduction?

Erik followed her into the supply room, watched as her fingers danced across the fabrics. It was too easy. Erik pushed a ream of fabric and watched as it tumbled to the ground. Then he pushed another and another. Erik continued down the row until his cloak caught. Erik quickly flicked his cloak free but it was too late.

"Stop." She yelled, still foolishly scrambling forward. "Please stop! I saw you! This isn't funny!"

"Oh contraire more petit. I find it quite humorous." Erik teased.

Her face fell to a frozen expression of shock. Her voice rattled and she spoke in English. "It's you."

"And who precisely would that be my dear?" Erik taunted, it appeared she had found faith in the Opera Ghost!

"The demon that tormented the gypsies!"

All humor in the situation drained at those words. How did she know? And who tormented who? Erik's eyes burned with rage he wanted answers and he'd get them. Erik made to step forward and grab her only to see her falling to the ground. She had slipped on the silk strewn across the floor.

This was not how Erik wanted to do it but perhaps it would work regardless. So he lifted her unconscious form off the floor and headed to the house on the lake.

**A/N: So they've met… sort of. Let me know what you thought! **


	9. Chapter 9: The Other Side

**A/N: This chapter was written with my brand new Wicked pen! I saw the musical live for the first time a week ago! It was amazing! Probably my second favorite musical, I think you all know my favourite ;) And as for how Sara figured out it was "the demon" daylightsshadow described it better that I ever could have (so for a more detailed analysis see her review), yes it was indeed the eyes and the voice. Ironically I used a real life story to inspire part of that chapter my friend had, as daylightsshadow put it, a "phan reaction" once to the sound of this seemingly bodiless voice floating into her room. When she heard it she dropped the book she was reading, looked into her mirror and said "Erik?". Unfortunately for her though it was not Erik but her roommate singing in the shower! How she missed the sound of the running water is beyond me… Now I hope you enjoyed that tidbit for if my friend ever finds out I published that little story online she will kill me :P**

**As always R/R and enjoy!**

I stirred, slowly waking from a deep sleep. I didn't remember falling asleep and I certainly didn't know where I was. I looked around the room frantic to find some clue as to my location. I was still completely clothed with the exception of my shoes and was in the most gloriously soft bed with the fluffiest comforter I had ever seen pulled up to my chin. The walls were painted a beautiful rose and a small vanity rested against the wall. It reminded me greatly of my old room back when I lived in England.

I shifted into a sitting position but as I did so I felt a dull ache radiating from the back of my head. I lifted my hand tentatively and touch the back of my skull; it was tender to my touch. What had I done to give myself such an injury? I sat on the edge of the bed and racked my brain. The last thing I remember was pinning some gossipy chorus girls dress. Then, then I what? Something must have occurred between then and now.

I stood up abruptly, ignoring the continued throbbing of my head. I began to pace, letting the cold wood on my bare feet revive my senses. The creature! That's right, I remembered! My supplies had disappeared and when I went in to get more I was taunted by a demon with burning eyes and the most beautiful voice I had ever heard, but it attacked me. It must have. That would explain my injury, but how could I explain my surroundings?

Suddenly someone knocked on the door. The sound started me so much that I met the sound with a scream. I was evidently not alone. The knock came again, I timidly scurried across to the door and my hand hovered above the handle. Should I open it? I did not know who was on the other side, I could ask but the only people I knew in the entirety of Paris were my sister, her husband and Mme Dubois. So I threw caution to the wind and slowly turned the knob and opened the door.

I did not know who I was expecting to be on the opposite side of the door, but the thing that stood there was the last thing I ever expected to see in my life. It stood over six feet tall dressed entirely in black, complete with a black mask. If it was a person then it was the thinnest person I had ever seen in my entire life. It looked as if someone had put fine evening wear on a skeleton. My head reeled, it really was him. I had heard that story a million times during my travel with the gypsies. I had always doubted it but how could I now? For just as they had all described it, it stood before me now.

"Now that you are once again lucid, there are things that we need to discuss." It said slowly.

Terror grasped my whole being and I shrunk backwards trying to keep space between me and it. But for ever step I took backwards it took one forwards and soon I was backed against a wall.

"How do you know about the gypsies?" It hissed quietly.

"I…" My voice trembled, "I worked for them briefly and they tell stories."

"What exactly did they say?"

"Not much." I squeaked.

I felt like a fly trapped in a spider's web. It didn't say a word and just continued to let those eyes burn my flesh. Why did it care so much, if it cared that I knew why didn't it kill me? Unless… unless it would do so after extracting the information. All the blood drained from my face. Why had I listened to that story? Why had I _repeated_ that story? My stomach felt sick at the thought that I may have unwittingly sentenced death on others.

"They said that there once was a demon that use to use its voice to lure men to their deaths." I quickly uttered.

It just stared at me intently not making a sound. Then it slowly pulled it's self to its full height and turned away from me slightly. I am not sure what came over me in that moment but before I realized what I was doing I had pushed the creature backward onto the bed and was sprinting out the door. I ran wildly in the house, pulling on the handle of every door I passed. I heard quick footsteps close in on me as I saw the front door and my adrenaline spiked. I pulled frantically on the lock as a hand grasped for the back of my dress missing only by millimeters. I flew out the door, running as fast as my legs could carry me. The ground grew wetter and slicker under my feet as I approached what appeared to be a lake. Suddenly I lost my balance and felt and a sharp pain in my ankle and moments later I splashed down into the water.

"We really are clumsy aren't we?" The creature taunted closing the gap.

I tried frantically to stand but an unbearable pain shot through my entire leg. Unable to support my own weight I fell awkwardly back down into the water. The creature's polished shoes were inches from the waters edge, inches from where I now lied. It bent down seemingly to grab me.

"Don't touch me!" I cried shrinking away again. It was only the slightest of changes but it seemed to wilt at my outcry.

"Erik only wished to bring you inside," It said morosely. "Unless you would prefer to stay out here in the cold lake." It's voice took a sarcastic twist.

I didn't know what to say. I shifted awkwardly in the water. My adrenaline had stopped pumping and I was just beginning to notice how cold the water actually was. It stabbed at my entire body like icy needles.

"Erik, your name is Erik?" I finally said, this point finally sinking in.

"In matter of speaking." He said

"Why did you knock me unconscious?" I asked, it was a question that had been weighing my mind down.

"_Erik_ didn't." He said, and a strange flicker lightened his eyes as his mask twitched. If I had had to guess I would have said he was smirking.

"Then why is my head so sore? And why did I pass out?" I demanded, finding my courage at the sight of his humility.

"You fell," He said. "You are feisty but you are also rather clumsy."

He fanned his hand towards me indicating the scene before us both and obviously referring to my most recent spectacle.

His mask twitched again, "Perhaps you have a future as a ballerina."

I smiled dryly and my voice was laced with skepticism as I said, "I fell?"

"Yes, on the silk that fell to the ground." He replied coolly.

"You mean on the silk you threw at me?" I snapped, surprising myself with my own bravado.

"That is rather irrelevant." He said firmly, indicating the end of that line of discussion.

"What do you want with me?" I asked.

"Erik only wishes to ask you a few questions." He said.

"Like what?" I asked, shivering involuntarily.

"If you stay in that water you will die of cold." He stated matter of fact.

It was probably true. I could already feel my extremities going numb and the iciness of the water bit painfully everywhere else.

"You are probably right," I said.

I shifted to stand up; a shooting pain reminded me of why I was still sitting in the water.

"I can't walk," I said timidly

"Erik will help you inside, but," His voice took an unexpected tone, a humorous one that one would use to tease a child, "he will have to touch you."

I couldn't suppress the eye roll that followed those words. I mutely held out my arms and let him scoop me out of the water. He had a strength I did not expect. He had lifted my soaked self out of the water effortlessly. I grasped his lapels as he carried my dripping form back into the house.

**A/N: Hope you enjoyed! I always pictured Erik with a bit of a humorous side that was largely sarcastically based. I always figured he was so intelligent and observant that being witty would come naturally and his darker personality would turn that into sarcasm. And it appears he used that humor to his advantage here to unwittingly diffuse the situation and put his "guest" at relative ease. **


	10. Chapter 10: Knights and Kings

**A/N: So sorry for such the delay in posting. I headed back to school and realized that I am involved in too many things. Who knew being the president of a Chemistry Society and working in a lab and doing school work could be so much work? Everyone, well okay then. I hope to get a few more updates online soon. The reviews really do help the update speed. **

**So this chapter has been written for a while, hope you like it! Please R/R.**

Erik placed me gently onto a settee in the living room before disappearing from my site. There was no sound apart from the water dripping off my drenched clothes. I blushed furiously as I realized my dress was nearly transparent. I could clearly see my corset through the soaked fabric. I folded my arms across my chest to try to preserve whatever modesty I had left.

"Erik foes not have any clothes for a woman." He said as he reentered and handed me a towel, "He never thought he would ever see a woman here."

There was something tragic in the way he said that and for a moment I couldn't help but feel sorry for him. That was until he grasped me ankle, and then all I could feel for him was the urge to kick him in the head. From the minute his fingers touched my ankle it throbbed in pain. Radiating to my toes and up my leg. I unconsciously jerked my foot from his grasp.

"You must be still while Erik examines your ankle." He said, holding it firmly.

I am sure he was gentle but it felt like he had my entire foot in a steel vice. I clenched my fists so tightly my fingers turned white. There was a sickening pop and then my ankle just felt numb. Erik then began wrapping a bandage around a splint, securing my ankle in place.

"Just dislocated." Erik said as he finished bandaging.

"What was the pop?" I said, trying not to move.

"I had to relocate one of the bones. It should be fine, as long as you stay off it for a few days."

I nodded dumbly hardly believing the events that had transpired. I wrapped myself in the towel trying to dry off and keep warm. It wasn't much help and I was still shivering.

Erik sighed. He looked at me intently before saying, "You need to get out of those wet clothes and warm up."

"Warm would be good." Was all I managed to say.

Erik wrapped a throw blanket around my shoulders before leaving the room again. When he returned a few minutes later he had a small bundle of clothes.

"Erik is sorry he has nothing better." He said handing me what appeared to be a man's shirt and pants. "Come Erik will help you to your bedroom."

Between not being able to stand, my hands shaking from cold and my dress sticking to my body it was nearly impossible getting undressed. Finally after nearly twenty minutes of struggling my final piece of clothing hit the floor with a satisfying 'splat'. I wrapped myself in the towel again to ensure I was dry before pulling on the dry clothes.

I was wrapped up in the covers of the bed when there was a knock on the bedroom door.

"Yes,?" I said not wanting to leave the warm of the bed.

"Are you decent?" Came Erik's voice from the opposite side of the door.

"As decent as I can be in mens clothing."

The door opened slowly and Erik stepped in. He had changed into fresh clothes as well. Though the only reason I could tell was because his pants and jacket were not longer wet and were freshly pressed. He had wooden crutches under his arm, which he placed on the foot of the bed.

"I have started a fire," he said. "You can warm up there if you wish."

"I practically jumped out of bed at the idea of a fire and with the crutches and Erik's help in minutes I was wrapped in a blanket and in front of the fire. The heat of the fire warmed my entire being and within minutes I was able to discard the blanket. I basked in the heat of the flames, letting it warm me through.

"Erik still wishes to ask you a few questions." Erik said, gazing intently into the fire.

I moved my eyes from the crackling fire to Erik's mask. I didn't say anything, but let him continue.

His eyes didn't leave the flames. He seemed to be fighting some inner battle until he sighed and asked, "How did you come to stay with gypsies?"

I thought for a moment, my eyes travelled back to the fire. That was the one question I didn't want to answer. I hadn't thought about any of that since I arrived in Paris and if I were honest with myself, recalling it still hurt. I didn't want to lie so I finally decided on a half truth.

"I was trying to reach Paris and had no money or job. Then I just happened upon them one day and it, at the time, appeared to be a perfect fit." I said, my eyes never leaving the fire.

"I see." Was Erik's response. I could tell he wished to ask more but I was thankful he didn't.

I sat without saying anything. I could feel tears welling in my chest. How had I managed to screw my life up so badly? I always pictured curling up by the fire with a loving husband. Now it seemed like this was the closest I would ever get. Me by the fire sitting in silence with a masked man who essentially kidnapped me after tormenting me at work. Sure he had mended my ankle but if he had just left me alone my ankle wouldn't need mending. I was shifting my gaze to examining my ankle when something caught my eye.

"Is that a chess board?" I said turning to look at Erik.

He examined me oddly as if that was the last thing he expected me to say.

"Yes,." He stated.

"Do you play?" I asked.

"Yes,." He replied

"Would you like to play?" I reworded, apparently Erik wasn't as great a conversationalist as I first thought.

"I wouldn't have guessed a gypsy seamstress had the intelligence to play chess." Erik said.

"My face flushed. "You are aware you could have just said no, you didn't have to insult me." I said, not hiding my offense.

Erik regarded me for a moment before rising and walking away. Moments later he place the chess board before me and said, "Black or White?"

I should have smacked him over the head with the board but instead said "White," as demurely as possible.

Erik didn't speak through the game, and whenever I asked a question or made a comment it was always met with a 'yes', 'no', 'hmm', 'it's not important' or the ever so frustrating 'indeed'. After several failed attempts at conversation I resigned to playing in silence.

"Check." I said, moving my knight. "You know chess has always fascinated me. You would assume the king would have the power but he is actually the least useful piece on the board. It is the Queen who had the true power."

Erik looked at me for a moment, before moving his piece. "Is power having freedom to move where you choose or knowing you will play a part in the end game?"

"In this case both," I said moving my Queen, "Checkmate."

Erik froze in disbelief, he scanned the board checking for an error. He visibly tightened and tried to remain as stoic as possible as he began resetting the pieces.

"Again?" He said, barely restraining his frustration.

"Why not?" I said, living how angry he looked as I played with his captured king.

To what I am sure was Erik's disbelief and horror. I beat him again in the next two games. The fourth ended in a stalemate.

"What time is it?" I yawned.

"Hmmm?" He murmured not looking up from the chess board. "Four."

"Four? As in four in the morning?"

"Yes,." Erik said still eyeing the board.

"I'm going to bed." I said grabbing my crutches.

"No, we must play another game." Erik said, his eyes still on the chess board.

"Erik!" I sighed, exasperated, "If I stay up any longer I'll pass out on the chess board!"

"Hmm. Fine." He said waving his hand, still not looking at me. "You know where your bedroom is."

I rolled my eyes and grabbed my crutched. As I worked my way to my room I could hear Erik muttering about the last game. I flopped awkwardly onto the bed and placed my crutched on the floor beside me. It seemed weird to stay here in someone else's house but at the moment I was too tired to care.

**A/N: So what do you think? Does she have mad chess skills or was it just beginners luck? Whatever the reason it doesn't seem like Erik likes being beaten very much.**


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